Just a Dream
by Clover64
Summary: It is 1849 and the famous Poet of the Piano, Frederic Chopin, lies on his deathbed, dreaming of a beautiful, magical world. But is it really a dream at all? When the lines between reality and fantasy blur, who is to say which is which? Eternal Sonata.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: **This is the first chapter of what will basically be a fanfic that tells the entire Eternal Sonata game, only with my own added twist to it. There will be OCs along with all the canon characters, and definitely pairings as well (some canon, some not). Some of the dialogue and events will be taken directly from the game, but there will be a lot of scenes and dialogue that I make up myself as well. Don't be surprised if it goes in an entirely different direction than the game does at times! As an added note, I've written this in a way that even people who haven't played the game should be able to understand it. So please read, enjoy, and review!

_Chapter One_

The sparkling lights of the city below breached the dark distance of the night, reaching upwards like tiny fingers to brush the painted landscape of the overlooking village, Tenuto. With the sun's disappearance, a quiet reverence had fallen over the hills and fields, sinking in to every blade of grass and flower petal. The small populace had since retired, leaving only the sounds of nature to fill the cool air. A lack of human commotion allowed nature's song to be swept along in the calming breeze. Everything appeared to be in existence exactly as intended.

But despite the tranquil quality of the surroundings, not everyone's heart was at peace.

From her precarious perch atop an old, rounded stone, the young girl sat thinking. Her expression was one of sadness, mixed with uncertainty. The present was so troubling, and she could find only little hope in the future—however long or short that it may end up being for someone like her.

She looked not up towards the twinkling stars in the sky, but down towards the society that would never accept her. The day's events hovered over her as a rain cloud, pouring negativity into her heart and making it heavy with grief. It wouldn't do to mourn her fate, but remaining stationary in a place that did not like her—when there was so much in the world to do and see, so many people to meet and help—was making her miserable.

Polka was not afraid of dying—everyone died eventually. As someone who could use magic, she was just destined to meet her end prematurely. She had known this since she was little. It was part of the reason that she tried so hard to live her life, because its longevity was not guaranteed. Every day could be her last…and she wanted no regrets.

No, she was not scared of death; there was no point in fearing the inevitable. It would be as the sand on the shore fearing the waves that would sweep it out to sea. Perhaps it was bravery or courage or something else entirely, but the daughter of Tenuto's fear was completely different from what was one would assume her to be afraid of…

Polka was afraid of dying alone, unremembered and not missed.

After all, when all those who would know her did their best to avoid her—well, why would they mourn the loss of the young girl? To them, she was nothing more than an abomination—and to touch her was to risk getting sick themselves. Despite the falsehood of this rumor, it was what they all believed. And, lately, Polka had started believing it, too. Would people really be so cruel to someone if there was no reason to be?

"Polka. There you are." Her mother's voice was soft, matching the whispering volume of the wind. "I was wondering where you went when I didn't see you in your room."

At her daughter's silence, she followed her gaze.

"Ritardando certainly is beautiful at night."

"Do you think so?" Polka replied. She squinted her eyes, even tilted her head to the side a bit to better take in the view. "Somehow when I think back on it, I get the feeling that it was much more beautiful when I was a little girl."

With her back to her mother, it was impossible for Polka to see the expression on her mother's face. After a moment, she answered.

"Yes, well, things always seem nicer in our memories. It's still just as beautiful."

She gave no reply, though she wished that she could feel as confident about it as her mother seemed to be. True, things often seemed better or worse in one's memories...but did that mean that she was just imagining the lackluster of Ritardando now? Polka wasn't a pessimistic person, she could not believe that that was the case--she wasn't imagining it. She couldn't...could she?

Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, a loving gesture meant to give her a sense of security. "You'll have bad dreams if you stay up too late," she said. "Come on. Let's get some sleep."

In an affectionate and definitively motherly action, she touched her palm to Polka's cheek, gently stroking it before turning to head towards home, believing that her daughter would follow shortly.

The young girl only stared harder down at the sleeping city, feeling just as confused, if not more so, as before.

"Is Ritardando really the same as it's always been?" she whispered to the darkness. "Really?"

In a surprising turn of events, the darkness answered her.

"No, it's not."

With a slow turn of her head, Polka regarded the newcomer whom had appeared as if by magic.

"This place used to be much more beautiful," he said, looking past her and to Ritardando.

Polka observed the stranger warily. She had never seen him around before, not in Ritardando and certainly not in Tenuto. Maybe he was from Forte...or even Baroque! But what would he be doing here, of all places, and in the middle of the night, of all times?

His gaze shifted, falling on her as she rose to her feet. "You have a heart that sees the world with open eyes, don't you?"

Instead of answering (how could one answer a question like that anyway?), Polka posed her own question.

"Who are you?" There was a slight quaver in her voice. "And what are you doing out here this late at night?"

"I apologize. My name is Frederic Francois Chopin."

"That's a long name," Polka said. "Different, too."

He smiled, though it was faint. "You can just call me Frederic, if you like."

"Okay, Frederic," she said. "You still didn't say why you're out here."

"I fear the answer is rather complicated as to why I'm _here_ and _now_...and where _here_ is exactly..."

Polka looked confused, and he shook his head.

"Put most simply, I was thinking just now."

"What about?"

"Oh, many things," he said, looking crestfallen. "Trying to find the answers to some of the questions I have about life."

She looked thoroughly interested now. "And what answers did you come up with?"

The mysterious man merely looked ahead, as if staring into another dimension entirely--could he see something that she couldn't?

"That everything in the world slowly fades with time," he said, almost as though he were reading the words from the air. " And that it is very difficult to remain still and keep things exactly as they are in just one particular moment. But because everything shifts only a little bit at a time, no one really notices the change. Not even when they're in the middle of it."

He bowed his head, a look of complete solemnity passing across his shadowed features. Polka thought he looked as lonely and confused as she felt. His words, though she couldn't understand them completely, still conveyed the same amount of meaning. Maybe they were like what her mother called 'kindred spirits'? Was he a kindred spirit sent by God to come and keep her company? She'd like to believe that.

"Perhaps...perhaps I should not be speaking of such things with you," he said after a moment of quiet thought. He probably realized that she was too young to fully grasp the complexities of his troubles.

"No, it's alright," she said. A thought struck her. "Oh, by the way, I'm Polka."

"Nice to meet you, Polka."

She smiled. He might have been a stranger, but he showed her an open kindness that not many had before. For some reason, he wasn't afraid of her--afraid of the fact that she was sick and rumored to be contagious. Or...maybe he just didn't know. If he wasn't from around here, and he didn't know her, he might be unaware of the fact. If that was the case, she knew that she should probably tell him.

But she didn't want to. Selfish though it may have been, Polka wasn't yet ready to give up the potential friendship that could result from this new acquaintance. Then again, would deception be any way to begin a friendship? She knew it would not be, she had been raised better than that.

With reluctance, she revealed to him the truth.

"Frederic," she said. "I have to tell you something."

His eyes moved away from the scenic view and back to her, curiosity in their brown depths. "Yes, Polka? What is it?"

"I can use magic." The related implications did not need to be said. She was sure he would understand.

Shockingly, he did not seem the least perturbed by this news. He even moved to sit down on the same rock that she'd been sitting on just moments ago. Polka sat next to him, unafraid.

"Is that so?" he replied. "I suppose that we are more alike than I would have guessed."

She blinked in rapid succession, excitement flushing her cheeks. "Wow!" she said. "So, can you use magic powers too, Frederic?" This seemed the only answer to why he wasn't bothered by her own magical qualities. Everyone anywhere knew that those who used magic were destined to die an early death. This was what gave rise to the rumor of magic being a contagious sickness instead of a gift.

The reality hit her smack in the face, her expression changed to one of understanding, sympathy, and sadness. "Oh...but then that must mean you're like me, and that you're gonna die soon, too."

He didn't seem particularly affected by her blunt words.

"Yes, you're right," he said, only a whisper of worry in his baritone voice. "I'm afraid that may very well be true."

The resulting silence was laden with meaning.

"So, what kind of magic can you use?" Polka quickly spoke up.

"Well, essentially, any and all kinds of magic. After all, this whole world is in my dream."

The young girl laughed aloud. "You're a strange man, Frederic," she said, not meaning any insult in the comment.

"No, it's true!" he said with vehemence. "Everything around us is all a part of my dream. Even you are just a product of my imagination."

There was such conviction in his voice that Polka wondered if there was an inkling of truth to what he said.

"Okay, then if what you is true, can you tell what I'm thinking about right now?" she challenged. "If we really are inside your dream, then reading my mind should be easy for you."

Frederic did not hesitate in answering. "Of course, it is. You were thinking that you don't want to use your magical abilities in front of other people anymore. Am I correct?"

Polka looked at her feet, and to the nothingness that lay below where they dangled. She said nothing.

"I don't blame you for feeling that way," he told her. "No one likes to be hurt."

It was true. No one liked to be hurt, especially not Polka. In her child's mind, she could not understand why people were so mean to one another. She thought that if they spent less time trying to harm each other, more time would be spent doing good things to benefit everyone. Maybe her mother was right about what she said all those years ago: that the ugliness of human desire created the most waves. One's suffering usually spread to everyone in one way or another.

But, she realized, there was still beauty in the world There was goodness that could cause just as many waves, but it had forced to resort to ripples instead since there was more evil than good in the world these days.

She had another thought.

"Frederic," she said. "There's something I'd really like to show you, but it's in the forest. Would you come with me?"

"Huh? You want me to go with you to the forest? You mean, right now?" He looked baffled by the prospect.

"Yes. Because it can only be seen at night."

He nodded. "Very well."

- - -

Being attacked by a ferocious beast in the middle of a dark forest at night wasn't exactly on Frederic's list of things that he wanted to have happen to him before he died. But as irony would have it, while they made their way to wherever it was that they were going (Polka had refused to tell him, insisting that it would "ruin the surprise") they were attacked by a large pig-like creature. Together, they were able to defeat it. Had they been but alone in facing the creature, he did not believe that their chances for success would have been as high.

"I guess it's kind of dangerous out here when it's late at night," Polka said, breathing hard. "The animals in the forest never used to be this aggressive before..."

"A sign of the times, perhaps," he remarked absently.

Polka was too busy putting away her parasol to hear it.

"By the way," he continued, " about the question you asked me earlier. You never told me if I answered correctly."

Quirking her head to the side a little, she regarded him with a knowing look. "Hmm?"

"Of course, this is all a story I've created in my head. So there's no way I could possibly be wrong." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, in obvious agreement with his own logic.

"Come on, come on! It's almost time," Polka said, changing the subject. She ran ahead. "Hurry, Frederic!"

He held out a hand as if it would stop her. "Wait!" Didn't she realize that it was too dangerous to be running around the forest by herself at night? What if another creature came along? He hurried to catch up to her.

Finally he found her on the edge of a large field. It was dark, save for the little light cast from the moon and stars. The field was filled with barren-looking flowers, ones that hadn't blossomed yet and did not look like they ever would. What an unremarkable place, he thought. Why had she brought him here?

"These flowers are what I wanted to show you," she said.

"Flowers?"

She continued to stare out at the field. With a sudden gasp, she smiled. "Look at them: they're blossoming!"

One by one, each flower began to open, unleashing an inner light the likes of which Frederic Chopin had never before seen in his life...or his dreams. The field quickly became an array of blues, purples, and pinks...all of which blended together into a magnanimous glowing field of radiant flowers. It lit up not only the ground, but the night sky as well, reflecting the majesty of the heavens in a perfectly ethereal way. The power of seeing the splendid sight was almost too much for the poor man.

They were easily the most beautiful things that he'd ever seen.

"What, what are they?" he whispered, afraid the words would lessen the raw splendor of the moment.

"They're called Heaven's Mirror," she explained. "They're like a reflection of the starry sky on the meadows. This is the only place they bloom in the whole forest. These flowers never bloom during the day, only at night. When the sun is up, they stay in their buds and absorb sunlight with their leaves. After night falls, though, they let out all the light they've stored. When they blossom, it always happens at exactly two o'clock in the morning."

He could not keep his gaze from the shining field. "They're beautiful. Absolutely stunning. It truly is a wondrous sight."

"But they're also called Death Lights."

Frederic was surprised, if not a little confused. This dream was proving to be full of surprises. "Death Lights?"

Polka's voice lost its vigor as she explained. "The sun brings life, but the dark brings death. And these flowers bloom in darkness. So, darkness is evil, light is good."

His eyebrows drew together in a look of consternation. "I'm not sure I agree with that assessment."

"Whether you want to call them Heaven's Mirror or Death Lights, that's up to you, Frederic."

Frederic watched her face closely, trying to decipher any hidden meaning behind her words.

She continued. "But I guess these days pretty much everyone has taken to calling them Death Lights. Long ago, it was thought they looked like the light that guided people to death, since they blossom the opposite of regular flowers. Even now, a lot of people don't like these flowers. To many, they're still considered a bad omen.

"That's...also how they think of me," she finished, looking down.

"Because you can use magic?"

"Because I'm sick."

Frederic frowned.

"You said before this whole world is all just a dream you're having, right? But if this is your dream and you can be so positive that what's happening is just a dream...How can you tell which is the real world if what you're experiencing in the dream is that realistic to you?" The words came pouring out of her mouth in a stream of syllables. "And to prove my point, you didn't read my mind earlier."

That was impossible! He could only stare at her, aghast. This all was just a dream, he was certain of it. Even now, he knew he was on his death bed, fading away. But, then why couldn't he read her mind? How could all this be so real to him? Was he mistaken? He couldn't be...could he?

"You were wrong," she said. "I was thinking about leaving Tenuto. I want to go out into the world and live my own life. Even if that life only exists inside your dream."

"Polka..."

"I don't know how much time I have left to live, but I want to live what's left of my life in a positive way, bringing happiness to others. I just want to help people somehow. Like these flowers. Even though people call them Death Lights, they still blossom and struggle to live on."

"You're going to leave the village." It was a statement, not a question. "But where do you intend to go after you leave Tenuto?"

She thought on it a moment before coming to her inevitable conclusion. "I'll go to Forte Castle. And then I'm going to meet with the Count, to ask about the taxes on Floral Powder. Because right now, they're hurting everyone in the village."

"I see."

"Please, stay at my house tonight. I'll tell my mom you're coming." She turned to skip off, giggling to herself. "You're a guest in our dream world, after all. That's not something that happens every day."

He watched her go, thinking to himself. "A flower that resembles you...A bad omen...Death Lights..."

- - -

"Mom, I am going to see the Count at Forte Castle!"

There was a strength in her voice, a passion in her posture that made her mother know that she was being serious. This was what concerned her. When Polka made up her mind to do something, she did it. End of story.

"Now is not the time to discuss this! We have a guest in the house," she said, her tone strained by stress.

"I told you the reason Floral Powder isn't selling is because people can buy Mineral Powder so cheaply," she went on. "I'm sure Count Waltz will understand if I talk to him!"

"Polka, dear, don't be foolish. You can't possibly go all the way to the castle in Forte by yourself."

Her mother was not ignorant to the look of betrayal in her daughter's eyes. But what did Polka expect her to say? She was her mother, after all! And loved her far too dearly to let her get hurt. Even if she reached Forte and gained an audience with the Count...He was not ignorant of the suffering of his people, he turned a blind eye to it. A young girl's plea would do nothing. Except break Polka's heart.

"I've already made up my mind!" Polka cried, tears in her eyes. "Don't try and stop me!"

"Polka!"

The bedroom door slammed in her face.

She frowned. "Dear, it's not that important if Floral Powder doesn't sell. We'll survive somehow."

Silence.

"Polka, are you listening?"

More silence.

"Polka, please! If you can hear me then answer me!" A hint of anger in her voice now. Why wouldn't her daughter hear reason?

When she was yet again met with only silence, she surrendered for the time being. Perhaps after sleeping on it, Polka would realize that this venture was not a good idea at all.

_Or perhaps she'll be even more convinced that it's the right course to take,_ she thought sadly.

"Excuse me," said a voice, drawing Polka's mother's eyes away from the door and to the guest of the house.

"Oh, Frederic," she said. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that."

"It's quite alright."

"No...no, it's not. I'm afraid Polka can be a little...rash sometimes."

"She is young," Frederic offered. "Is that not the role of youth, to take the risks that adults cannot?"

The worried mother nodded. "Perhaps you are right. I know that trying to stop her will only fuel her conviction. And in my heart, I believe that she has the right idea, even if her execution may be a bit off. But as a mother--_her_ mother--I feel that I cannot condone this plan of hers."

"You're worried for her safety, it is understandable," Frederic said. He thought for a moment. "Maybe I could accompany her to Forte?"

"Would you do that? Really?" Her eyes widened. "But I could not ask that of you..."

"You would not have to. I volunteer."

She was not sure why, but she trusted this man for some reason. He was unlike any she'd ever met before, but there was a _goodness_ to him. It was difficult to describe, but his aura was one of wisdom, serenity. Yet, at the same time, he seemed to be looking for something...something as elusive as he himself seemed to be.

"You have my word that I will not allow anything bad to happen to your daughter," he told her, his expression utterly serious.

"Thank you," she whispered, taking his hand. "Please...just keep her safe."

He nodded. "I will."

And she believed he would.

- - -

Morning was always the nicest time of day in Ritardando. The clean city sparkled in the first rays of the sun, while a refreshing breeze was always blowing in from the sea. With most still asleep, the only sounds that could be heard were those of the waves lapping against the shore in a soothing melody. It could be said that the early bird gets the worm, but life in Ritardando was rather lax and so no one was ever in a rush to wake up, work, or go anywhere.

Today, however, two of Ritardando's more notorious inhabitants were up early, ready to set out on their own whirlwind adventure.

"Wow, Retto! This is the first time I'm going outside Ritardando!" exclaimed the ecstatic boy.

Retto, short for Allegretto, gave a shrug. "It's not like we're going on a picnic, Beat. Don't get so excited."

"Yeah, I know that, Retto!" he defended. "But we're going to help Ritardando's poor by getting the leaders to lower taxes on stuff besides the Mineral Powder, though, right? That way everyone can afford blankets and cheese and all the honey-covered bread that they could ever possibly want! Then everyone can finally be happy! I think _that's_ pretty exciting though."

"True enough," he agreed. "It's not going to be easy, though, Beat. But someone has to stand up, we can't keep stealing bread forever. It won't solve anything. No, we have to uncover the real root of the problem."

The red-haired boy nodded. "You said it! ...so, uh, where are we going, anyway?"

Allegretto shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh. "You mean you don't know? Geeze. We're headed to Forte Castle, where else? To talk to the guys in charge, of course! Come on, let's go!"

"Hey, Retto, wait up!"

- - -

Forte Castle was a reputable fortress, impenetrable and invincible. At least, it appeared that way to the majority of Forte's citizens. It stood as a symbol of strength and stability, even while the land was largely struggling beneath taxes. Regardless of one's opinion of the Count, no one could deny the fluttering of pride that struck their heart when they looked on the castle.

The inside was even more magnificent than the exterior. Covered in rich reds and deep golds, the interior looked as royal as one would expect it too. On its walls were hung exquisite paintings to match the ornate carvings in the surroundings borders and pillars. Nothing within the castle was not of the very best quality, upon the demands of His Majesty, Count Waltz.

Perhaps it was the power, but over the years, the Count had become less and less concerned with the citizens needs and focused instead on his own. Greed consumed him, while he hid behind his power. It was rare to see him outside of the castle these days, especially with so much civil unrest.

Instead of going to get it himself, if he had a desire, it would be brought to him. Despite the darkness that was said to dwell in him, he had many loyal subjects--it was they who helped run the castle and service him. In actuality, they were little more than slaves under a deluded idea of freedom. Under Count Waltz's rule, freedom did not exist.

Still, there were some who genuinely believed in Waltz's ability to rule. Legato, his right had man, was one such person. An older gentleman, Legato did not typically do the dirty work of Waltz but rather saw to it that others did such work--men like Fugue and women like Rondo, two others of Waltz's personal guard.

"My lord," began Legato, approaching the golden throne upon which Count Waltz sat in all his self-appointed glory. "The mining operation at Mt. Rock is proceeding smoothly. Mineral Powder production is also increasing according to plan."

The Count looked bored by this as he leaned back in his seat. "There's no need to report when things are going well," he said. "So I hope you have more exciting news for me, Legato. I haven't had the best day, and so my mood isn't at its all-time high at the moment." There was an unspoken threat in his voice.

Legato nodded. "Yes, my lord. The Deceptive Cadence have arrived."

"Ah, wonderful," he said, sitting forward with interest. "When will they be able to go on?"

"In a few hours, my lord."

"They have an hour," countered Waltz. "I expect them to be ready by then. And, for your sake, Legato, they better be good. I was _sorely_ disappointed with the last musical act you presented me with."

Brief glimpses of the trio of performers that had displeased Count Waltz's musical tastes and were now rotting in the castle dungeon flashed in Legato's mind for a moment.

"Of course, my lord," he replied, nerves affecting his tone only mildly. "They are said to be the best throughout the land."

"They better be."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **The characters of Staccato, Stretto, Alto, and Rubato belong to me, and will play more prominent roles later on in the story. Otherwise, everything else belongs to those lucky, lucky people who own the rights to Eternal Sonata. Also, please review if you read and like! Thanks!

_Chapter Two_

Unlike Tenuto and Ritardando, the forest was not meant for habitation by people. There was a dirt and grass path, worn from the tread of the travelers that had passed before. On either side of it, the foliage continued to reach out in an aggressive attempt to seize back the land on nature's behalf. It was futile as those who took the path tended to tromp down upon the land, pushing back at any branches and leaves that got in their way. A circle of growth and destruction, of continued renewal.

Rain continued to pour down, having become a constant companion since the beginning of the trip. Instead of fading away as time progressed, it was growing increasingly worse. The clouds had become angry, dark and menacing in their size and color. They looked down upon the two wayfarers, unleashing torrents of wind and water without mercy. Somehow, their very presence had offended nature and it continued to show its displeasure in being intruded upon.

Frederic and Polka slogged through the muddy grass, moving ever forward. The strength of the storm was such that it was as though they were fighting against crashing waves. They were certainly wet enough to have been.

In truth, Frederic found it exhilarating. Though he wasn't fond of ill weather such as this, the sensation of the icy rain against his face, his clothes and the feel of exercise in his body, his joints made him feel alive.

The irony of that thought was not lost on him.

Right now, he knew he was lying in his sickbed, Death just waiting to wrap its frigid hands around him and steal away his life in its prime. It had been so long since he'd been outside, trapped as he had been in that room with nothing but his piano for entertainment. It was important for his recovery that he stay in bed and rest, his doctor had said. Too risky for him to be around many other people, he'd said. Tuberculosis was contagious, after all, he'd said. And so he'd laid there, waiting to get better...or waiting to die.

Just...waiting.

Thinking on it now, that world seemed so foreign compared to this one. No, _this_ one was the foreign world, the one that existed only in a dying man's dreams.

The booming sound of thunder interrupted his thoughts.

"Did you hear that?" Polka queried. She stared up at the crying sky, letting nature's tears wash her white face. "It's starting to thunder now, too."

He nodded. "We should get out of this storm. Is there somewhere around here where we can take shelter?"

Polka flushed pink. "I don't know," she admitted. "I've never actually been this far from Tenuto before."

"Well, then we'll just have to explore a bit," Frederic said.

Before they could do that, however, a noise not belonging to the tumultuous weather drew away their attention.

"Hold on a second," Polka said, her voice decreasing in volume. "Someone's coming."

That someone turned out to be distinguished-looking gentleman who seemed to look as out of place in this woodland environment as Frederic and Polka felt. He had an ocular lens over his right eye, lending a certain look of intelligence. His clothes were fancy, almost to the point of extravagance. This, however, was all overshadowed by the long, slender sword that dangled down from his waist. Despite the friendly manner in which he approached him, there was something decidedly dangerous about the man.

"Oh!" exclaimed the man in faux surprise. "Why, hello there. Are you two out looking for something in this wretched weather?"

Perhaps it was a special sensitivity inherent in the young, but Polka seemed to know that something wasn't right here, about this man. She inched closer to Frederic who was also watching the newcomer with a wary eye.

"I am looking for something myself," he went on, "but I'm learning that it's not such an easy task when it's pouring down rain like this."

"Indeed," Frederic agreed, still uncertain of the man's motives.

A threatening gleam entered his gaze. "Perhaps...you wouldn't mind providing me with entertainment to ease my frustration?"

"_What?!_" The disbelief was apparent in Frederic's defensive tone.

"I really do hate it when my clothes get wet, and here I find the two of you just as I was starting to get irritated."

In the time it took for a bolt of lightening to streak across the sky, the man had his weapon out and ready.

"What are you doing?" Polka cried. "Stop it!"

As he'd promised her mother, Frederic had every intention of defending Polka from this madman. He stepped in front of her, pulling out his own weapon.

The enemy laughed, amused. "So, you're going to fight back, are you? More fun for me."

And then he attacked.

- - -

"Looks like all that rain and lightening have stopped," said Beat with relief. "Thank goodness."

Allegretto grinned. "Hey, Beat, did I see you shaking back there?"

"What?! No way! I wasn't shaking!"

"Oh, really? Because it seemed to me that you were hanging on to that little camera of yours for dear life!"

"I was not!" he defended.

The older boy only laughed, ruffling the top of Beat's head and causing his hat to fall off. He made a small cry of protest, grumbling as he picked his hat off the ground and placed it back on his head.

"Stupid Retto," he mumbled. "Let's just hurry and get out of here, okay?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Observant Boy Wonder," Allegretto said. "We already _are_ out."

Before them were a twin set of picturesque cottages that seemed to have grown out of the surrounding landscape. Vines climbed the sides of the living houses (as they appeared to be made out of large, hollowed-out trees) and little white flowers grew along them giving the impression of a decorated exterior since there wasn't much in the way of man-made design. At the bases were untrimmed bushes and the many trees that had been permitted residence in the natural little village. There was even a small stream running through the place.

"It finally stops raining and only then do we find shelter," he grumbled. "Figures."

Beat ignored his friend's complaining, straining his eyes against the now-shining sun. "Hey, I think I see someone over there," he said.

Without waiting for Allegretto, Beat headed straight up the stairs and towards the little figure nearby.

"Hello, there!" Beat greeted the girl. She looked very imp-like, with a round face, large expressive eyes, and layered purple hair. "Do you live in this house?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," she answered in a falsetto voice. "My name is March, and it's nice to meet you..."

"Beat," he supplied. "And this here is Allegretto."

"Heya," Allegretto piped in, still admiring the environment.

"Do you live here by yourself, March?" Beat asked.

"No, my sister lives with me, too. We're the guardians of this forest."

Allegretto looked surprise. "Just the two of you? Alone? All the way out here? Must be tough."

"Not at all," she replied. "I suppose it can be dangerous sometimes, but my sister always manages to take care of things. Lately though, I must admit I've been surprised at how many guests have been showing up around the forest. We don't get many visitors, as you can imagine..."

Just as she said that, the door to the house behind her opened, revealing a blonde girl. She looked pale if not a little sleepy. Allegretto watched her with curious eyes as she descended the steps towards them, looking around with evident confusion. She looked rather familiar...

"Oh, are you awake already?" March seemed surprised. "You know you could have stayed in bed a little longer if you wanted to."

"Where...where am I?" she asked quietly, seeming on the verge of panic.

March's voice was gentle, soothing as she explained. "You were found unconscious at the upper end of the forest. The Agogos came to me, and told me where I could find you."

"Where's Frederic?"

"Your friend? I think he's out taking a walk somewhere nearby. He kept mumbling to himself, something about trying to find inspiration for his music."

Polka blinked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "I...see."

"Excuse me," interrupted Allegretto. "But what are 'Agogos'?"

March looked at him as if she didn't understand his question. "You don't know what Agogos are? Well, hmm. They're...well, they're round creatures."

"Round creatures?"

"Anyway, they don't approach human beings," she went on. "And recently, the Agogos haven't been showing themselves at all. You're a very lucky person. It's quite unusual for Agogos to take a liking to a human. In fact, I still can't believe they came to me about rescuing a human being at all, let alone rescuing two of them. This is the first time anything like that has ever happened!"

"So the Agogos rescued me?" Polka asked, suddenly looking uncomfortable and even more confused than before. Allegretto couldn't help but feel bad for her, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do. "Even though...even though I'm..."

March touched her arm gently. "I think maybe you should get some more rest right now. You've been through quite the ordeal. I'll fix you something nice and warm to eat..."

She began to head up the steps into the house but paused, looking back at Polka.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just realized that I don't even know you're name."

"Who, me? Well, I'm..."

"You're Polka, right?" Allegretto put in helpfully. "You sell Floral Powder in Ritardando. Yeah, I heard someone say your name once."

Beat, having tired of being left out of the conversation, piped up. "Oh, yeah! And that healing magic you used on that hurt guy the other day was really great, too!"

At the mention of magic, she seemed to withdraw. Slowly but surely, she began to move backwards until she turned around and, much to everyone's surprise and bafflement, ran away.

"Hey, Polka! What's the matter?" Allegretto shouted after her, feeling guilty though for what he wasn't sure.

"Why'd she run off like that?" Beat asked quietly. "Did we say something wrong?"

The older boy gave a shrug. "I don't know, but we better go make sure she's all right..."

- - -

Magic. Magic. Magic.

That was what it always came down to, wasn't it?

At the mention of her unnatural abilities, something had provoked a sense of flight within the young girl. It was alright for Frederic to know about her magical powers--he was very much like her in that sense--but these two boys were complete strangers to her. She could not stand to be repulsed by them, too. They only knew her for what she could do, not for who she was. Would they even care to get to know her? Her, the sick, contagious outcast. No, she imagined that they would not.

So she ran.

Barely aware of where she was going, she let her feet take her where they would. The trees blurred past her, their leafy branches not daring to reach out and stop her. The dirt path had dried by this time which was good since she might have tripped or slipped in her haste had it been otherwise. The clouds above drew together in a sentient fashion, appearing as eyebrows to the curious, blue eyes of the sky.

Paying no attention to anything but the ground as it flew beneath the souls of her shoes, she didn't have time to avoid the sudden object that appeared in front of her. Swerving at the last possible moment, she narrowly avoided plowing directly into Frederic. He began to say something, but she couldn't catch what it was as she was quickly regaining her balance and pushing past him. Whether this concerned him or not was unknown to her as she didn't even pause to look back.

Maybe...if she ran hard enough, fast enough...she'd become like the wind. That'd be nice. The wind was forever, simple but perfect in that simplicity. It couldn't get sick, it wasn't strange. It was _normal_. If she was more like the wind, maybe people would like her more. Maybe...

The monster was so abnormally large that it was a lot harder to miss than Frederic had been. With its massive sword and ferocious roar, Polka skidded to a stop, fear shining in her eyes. She then noticed two other, smaller creatures flanking her, a hungry look in their predatory eyes. Her breath left her, the blood in her veins turned cold as she froze before the unfriendly creatures. Was this what it felt like to face death?

Her momentary shock soon left her along with a scream.

In moments, three heroes appeared in front and alongside her in the form of Frederic, Allegretto, and Beat. Each had their arms spread out to offer more protection for the frightened Polka who stood in the midst of their human shield.

"Polka, are you okay?" Beat asked.

She couldn't find her voice and so only nodded. She'd be okay...now that she wasn't alone in this.

Allegretto looked over his shoulder at Frederic, skepticism in his gaze. "I can understand you want to fight," he told the man. "But are you sure? After all, you're recovering, too, aren't you?"

There was a look of grim determination in his features as he answered. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Right now, we have to concentrate on keeping these things away from Polka."

Just then, the largest of the beasts swung his weapon down towards Polka...but Allegretto moved fast enough to intercept it with his own blade. The force of the blow was enough to send him staggering backwards. Left vulnerable, the monster would have had him had Beat not distracted it with several blasts from his musket. With his attention now divided, Frederic moved towards the creature's vulnerable flank and struck with enough power to pierce its tough hide.

This only made it angrier.

The other two, smaller creatures were easily dispatched by Allegretto but the boss wasn't looking to give up so easy. It fixed its evil eyes upon the defenseless Polka, rushing towards her at such a speed that both Beat and Frederic were violently shoved out of the way. Polka gaped at the monster, but managed to will herself to move just in time as its blade crashed into the soft earth. Scrambling out of the way, the sword came at her again and again.

Polka tired quickly. She'd worn herself out with what little running that she'd done. March had been right, she should have just gone back to bed for more rest. The stranger in the forest earlier had done a decent amount of damage to both she and Frederic--but he seemed less affected by his healing wounds. Her youth, for once, was her mortal enemy, laughing at her frailty. She wanted to help in the fight, but was too weak to do anything other than keep herself out of harm's way. It upset her greatly.

Yet, at the same time, she was able to watch as Frederic, Allegretto, and Beat came at the monster...all while keeping it away from her. Each was selfless as the battle progressed in a touch-and-go manner; any moment, one of them could slip up, the sword would come down, and they'd be gone. Their life snuffed out in an instant. They didn't seem to be afraid, though. They were...determined. To help her? But...she was sick. People didn't help her, they were afraid of her.

What had changed?

Or maybe everything was the same--it was just these people who were different. These incredible people whom had come to her rescue with nary a thought towards their own safety.

Her _friends_.

Illustrating a special move that seemed much like magic, Frederic seemed to use the darkness in the creature's own shadow against it. In a single moment, the creature's soul was thrown upwards, instantly killing the fiend. It disappeared in a flash of light, nothing remaining afterwards.

She saw the weary expression on Frederic's face but he said nothing, did not even ask for a thanks. Allegretto was the first to reach her once the monster had been vanquished, with Beat right behind him.

Concern covered his features. "Did you get hurt?"

In the sudden realization that these people could possibly be the friends that she'd desired all her young life coupled with her exhaustion, she'd fallen to her knees. This must have been what leant him his worry about her.

"No," she said, quiet. "No, I'm alright. Thank you."

"Thank goodness you're all right--" Frederic began, but his attention was suddenly stolen away. "What...what is that thing?"

Everyone's eyes, including Polka's, turned to regard the little glowing creature headed towards them. It bounced in Polka's direction, little musical notes ringing out every time it hit the ground.

"I bet it's one of those Agogos that girl was talking about before," suggested Allegretto.

Beat quirked his head, completely curious about the thing. "It's kind of weird. Look, Retto, it's glowing..."

Polka wasn't listening to any of the background conversation, enraptured by the delightful creature.

"Agogo, thank you for saving me earlier," she told it. It bobbed up and down in response, as if to say 'you're welcome'.

"I've never seen one of those before," Beat continued. "Oh! I know! I'll take a picture of it!"

But as he fumbled for his camera, the Agogo suddenly grew shy and disappeared as quickly as it'd come. Silence fell on the group.

Polka was the first to speak. "Where did it go?"

Allegretto looked angrily at the younger boy. "Great job, Beat! You scared it off by taking that stupid thing out!"

"Gee, I'm sorry, Retto..."

"Don't worry...Beat," Polka said, using his name for the first time. "Agogos are probably naturally shy creatures. I'm sure it'll come out again."

Standing, she turned towards the older boy. "And your name is Retto, right? Is that short for something else?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Yeah, it is. It's short for Allegretto."

Frederic silently observed the conversation, noting that it would not be polite to interrupt.

"I have a little store in Ritardando," Allegretto continued, lying now. For some reason, he didn't want Polka to know about his true 'occupation', if thieving could even be called that. "It's small, but we have a tough time keeping stuff in stock each day." As a result of this outrageous lie, Beat had to make an effort not to laugh aloud. "Anyway, enough about me. What's a powder seller like you doing all the way out here? You headed somewhere?"

"I'm on my way to Forte," she said.

"As am I," Frederic finally put in.

"Well," said Allegretto. "Seems like Forte is the happening place to be right now, then. Because you two aren't the only ones headed there..."

- - -

The failing light of dusk entered the throne room in the form of slanted rays, barely able to pass through the tinted mosaics of the glass windows. Everything was cast about in a warm glow, highlighting the golden hues of the place and giving it an increased royal atmosphere. Even an enemy of Forte could not deny that there was a regal charm to the castle.

"Well, Fugue," Count Waltz prompted, "did you learn anything new?"

The man stood upright, his prior arrogance in the forest against those two pathetic strangers seeming to pale in comparison to the Count's own ego. The Count had merely to assume his bored countenance and Fugue was able to get the point quite well.

"Yes, my lord. It was relatively easy to find the creatures in question, but unfortunately I could not find a single one that glows." He waited for the other shoe to drop.

It did, as expected. "I've no interest in hearing about your failure," growled Waltz, slamming his hands against the armrests of his seat.

"Yes, but--"

"We know from experiments that mixing those creatures into the powder doubles its effectiveness," he continued. "And we've also heard several eyewitness accounts of some of them _glowing_. Are you implying that my information is faulty, Fugue?"

"No, my lord."

The Count leaned back, appeased by his servant's pacifism. "I must have them," he told Fugue. "No matter what."

Fugue nodded. "I will keep looking."

"See that you do." A noise behind the doors leading into the room signaled the arrival of the Count's guests. Immediately, he assumed a more friendly facade. "After all, Fugue, it is our duty to protect the well-being of our citizens."

Seeing that this was his time to depart, he took his leave of the Count as soon as the doors opened. In passing, he recognized who had come--it was the renowned band, the Deceptive Cadence. He himself had heard them play before and he could only hope that their unique sound would please the Count. It would be better for everyone if Waltz was in a good mood. Fugue, however, would not be sticking around for the performance...He had work to do.

"I hope we're not interrupting," the woman of the group said. "Your man, Legato, told us that we were expected."

The Count smiled pleasantly, his youthfulness providing a certain disarming charm. Standing, he walked to meet the woman and her band members. The seemingly ragtag group certainly weren't much to look at, he thought, but their skills were said to be exceptional. The price for if they were not was high--it was not good for the longevity of ones life to displease the Count of Forte.

"Expected, indeed," the Count said, looking them over with a critical eye. His gaze ultimately settled on the woman who he would guess was the lead singer and, thus, the leader of the Deceptive Cadence. "I was just explaining to my associate that the role of a government is to serve its citizens to the utmost of its ability. You understand, of course."

If she was skeptical of the Count's manner, she did not show it. "Of course, my lord."

He looked to the others. "I'm eager to hear the famed Deceptive Cadence play. It has been too long since a band of reputation has graced Forte Castle. But first, I think, some introductions are in order."

"I'm Staccato," she said, her tone succinct and to the point. "With me are Stretto, Alto, and Rubato. If it pleases you, my lord, we will begin immediately."

"Indeed," he agreed. "It would please me greatly."

Giving them his back, he strode back to his throne where he then sat down and motioned for them to begin. The smile on his face was decidedly ambivalent, and it did not reach his eyes. There was a tension in the room, as though the predator was paying careful attention to the antics of his prey. The Deceptive Cadence wasted no time in getting started.

Rubato began with his double bass, low mournful notes breaking forth from the stringed instrument. Squat and bulky, the player much resembled that which he played. His red hair smoothed back allowed no strand to enter into his face which was marked by concentration, cheeks flushing with emotion as reflected in the music. With no need to open them, his amber eyes stayed hidden beneath closed lids as he played.

Soon, the double bass was joined by the soft harmony of a violin. Stretto raised the wooden instrument and slowly, methodically began to play. It did not match up exactly with what Rubato was playing but in its difference was its beauty. With his messy brown hair--much resembling a bird's nest--flopping into his brown eyes, he constantly had to toss his head to clear it of its bothersome strands. This, however, almost always looked as though it were on purpose, the sharp twist of his head coming at just the right interval of time, overlapping the beats that he was playing.

But it was not the skills of the musicians alone that made this band great, as evidenced when Alto began to sing. His voice was deep, much deeper than one would expect out of such a young-looking man. Looking as plain as he did, one could hardly guess that such a voice could issue forth from him. Much like the mournful sound of the double bass, Alto's baritone song found substance in the deep emotion of it. It echoed off of the carved walls, resounding throughout the throne room.

The three presented a challenging act in their trio, but it was Staccato who proved theirs was no trio, but a quartet. With sharp, ringing notes, her soprano voice came as a delightful complement to the lower tones that had already been presented by her fellows. The combination of varying lows with a single high was something that the Count had never before heard done well; many had attempted such risky music but had fallen short. The Deceptive Cadence had proven themselves to be more than just rumored greatness, however.

Waltz watched with approval, listened with pleasure. The three men were each talented in their individuality, but it was the combined efforts of theirs with the lead singer that truly made their music wonderful. His eyes were continually drawn back to the female who seemed enraptured by the song she was singing--a tale of woe, to be certain. Her emerald eyes were rarely shown, but they expressed an obvious emotion when they revealed themselves. The Count himself did not understand why musicians got so emotional about their music--he'd never heard anything that he'd consider 'heartwarming' or 'touching'. After all, it was just a song...Just notes arranged together.

After the song had come to its conclusion, a judging silence filled the throne room. The members of the Deceptive Cadence were quiet, none daring to take their eyes off of the Count of Forte. If he wasn't pleased with them, well, they knew their fates.

Finally, the Count raised his hands and clapped them together. "Well done," he said. A shimmer of relief rippled across the band. "Well done."

Perhaps there was hope for the pitiful people of the land, after all, if such musicians could be produced.


End file.
